


Don't Take Much To Start Us

by karcheri



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karcheri/pseuds/karcheri
Summary: He can feel Gerlat’s hand (his massive hand) pressing down just enough on his bladder, his hot breath near his ear, his teeth on his shoulder, biting down through the fabric of his tunic (the baby blue one, his favorite, he hopes the brute doesn’t tear it-) and it’s too much. Jaskier feels like he’s about to burst, but he knows Geralt won’t let him go just yet. What exactly is it he said?Not until they’re finished singing your songs.This could take all night.Or: Quite literally just Jaskier in Geralt's lap (and hands). God bless
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 708





	Don't Take Much To Start Us

Oh God. Fuck. There’s a woman watching them from across the Tavern. Is she enjoying the show, he wonders? It’s a miracle that they haven’t drawn more attention yet.

He can feel Gerlat’s hand (his _massive_ hand) pressing down just enough on his bladder, his hot breath near his ear, his teeth on his shoulder, biting down through the fabric of his tunic (the baby blue one, his favorite, he hopes the brute doesn’t tear it-) and it’s too much. Jaskier feels like he’s about to burst, but he knows Geralt won’t let him go just yet. What exactly is it he said? _Not until they’re finished singing your songs._ This could take all night.

The Tavern is quite busy as well. At least a score of drunken villagers, possibly two, crowded into this tiny shelter, dancing and singing and carrying on- the merriest of men and women- but who made them so? Jaskier squirms in Geralt’s lap, trying to get some relief from the pressure, only to be pulled back into place like a rag doll, Geralt’s hand pressing down harder now.

_“Toss a coin to your witcher,_

_O’Valley of plenty…”_

How many fucking times can they sing this song? This must be the fifth or sixth, at least. Jaskier has to bite down on his to keep from moaning. Geralt’s arousal is pressing against him _(he could split him in half with that thing, this beast of a man-)_ and he wants to ask how long his dear white wolf was watching him work the crowd, how many glasses of red wine he let Jaskier down just waiting for his prey to get close enough? Hours Jaskier had spent charming his audience with ballad after ballad of heroics and triumph, while their very subject sat brooding in the corner and glaring daggers at everyone in the room.

_“...He slayed our beast,_

_So we could have peace…”_

The new one then. A derisive snort at his shoulder.

“Not one of your best.”

He wants to roll his eyes. He would just love to see Geralt try to write a song with the meager information he deems worthy of passing on. And he wonders why Jaskier embellishes (and that’s what it _is._ It is _not_ lying, thank you very much) so much of their adventures. 

_“...Toss a coin to your witcher_

_And friend of humanity….”_

Please for the love of fucking god be the finale. Geralt is rocking into him now, and the hand not on his bladder is fondling his cock through his trousers. Jaskier’s knuckles have gone white where they clutch table; he is trying so hard to hold it and so hard not to make noise. He is near tears with the effort. What a song that would make. 

It’s hard for Jaskier to pay attention to the music like this. He hears the sound but feels as if it’s coming from another room, or as if he, himself is floating away from it.

“G-Geralt,” he chokes out. His traitorous tongue, unstoppable even now. Geralt moves the hand off his bladder _finally_ and straight into his pants, while the other closes over his mouth. Has the cursed singing finally stopped? Are there people still here? Are they being watched? _Does he care?_

“Do you know how many nights I’ve watched you sing and thought how much better those lips would look wrapped around my cock, Jaskier?” 

Geralt’s voice whispering in his ear is the only thing tethering him to reality, his head going lighter as the hand on his cock continues pumping.

“How many times I’ve imagined pulling you into my lap just like this and teasing you until you beg me to fuck you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“-making you scream until that pretty little voice of yours is nothing-”

And that does it. He explodes all over Geralt’s hand and his own tunic. His scream muffled by Geralt’s hand. A stream of piss leaking down their legs and onto the floor. Jaskier goes boneless and his head lolls forward. He fears for a second that he might pass out but Geralt’s other hand (the one _not_ covered in. Well.) pulls his head up again to push his sweaty hair out of his face while he tries in vain to get his shuddering breaths under control.

“Easy, Jask.”

The come down is slow and in the morning he doesn’t remember how, exactly, Geralt managed to get them cleaned up and out of there with nobody noticing but thinks that some of the details are just not worth knowing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
